


things you said when you were scared

by WitchyBee



Series: things you said... [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hypothermia, In Your Heart Shall Burn, Post-Battle of Haven, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyBee/pseuds/WitchyBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wake up," Solas pleads in a whisper, feeling foolish and frightened. "The blame is mine. You must wake up. Please. The Inquisition needs you, I—"</p>
            </blockquote>





	things you said when you were scared

Solas has been looking after Lavellan since she stumbled from the ruins of Haven through a blizzard, half frozen. Her skin was pale, lips tinged blue-grey. She had fallen to her knees and mumbled something incoherent about wolves before losing consciousness.

For one singular, terrifying moment, he’d thought her dead.

Every pilgrim and Haven refugee seeking safety in the Inquisition’s makeshift camp is determined to do whatever they can to aid the Herald’s recovery. Although they themselves fled with few possessions, they give their blankets and warm clothing willingly. Solas finds their faith admirable, however misinformed it might be. She was not chosen by the humans’ Maker or His prophet, yet their faith in her has not been misplaced.

Lavellan’s condition improves slightly—but her breathing remains shallow and her pulse weak. Solas examines her left hand just like he had after the Breach opened, but this time it is to assess her fingers. Not as severely frostbitten as her toes, he observes. Perhaps the Anchor’s magic somehow protected her hand from the biting cold.

"Wake up," Solas pleads in a whisper, feeling foolish and frightened. "The blame is mine. You must wake up. Please. The Inquisition needs you, I—"

Cole appears beside him, holding an armful of blankets. “You’re scared,” the spirit says. “Guilty. You think it’s all your fault but it isn’t. Corypheus hurt her, not you. She is strong, shining brighter than before. She will live. She will lead them.”

"Thank you, Cole. I hope you are right."

"Yes. Hope is good." Cole nods. "Everyone’s afraid, hoping so hard after Haven fell. They need a new home. The place where the sky was held back."

"I know."

————————————————————————

It takes all of Solas’ mana to slowly raise her body temperature. His power is limited—and his foci in the hands of a mad would-be god. Frustrated, he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and wishes there were any divine being in this world worth a prayer.

Mother Giselle slips inside the tent, careful not to let the cold air in, bringing more aloe vera to treat Lavellan’s windburned flesh. “You have not slept in days,” she chides him gently. “You cannot take care of her while neglecting yourself.”

"I will rest if—when she regains consciousness."

"These events have tested everyone’s faith."

"After my journeys in the Fade, I have learned to accept nothing based upon blind certainty. The truth is often far more complex."

"But you believe in her. We all thought we had lost her, either to this Corypheus or the snowstorm, yet she returned to us," the Revered Mother says. "It is a miracle. Can you not accept that which your eyes can plainly see?"

"I can accept it," Solas replies evenly. "I do not, however, feel I am deserving of such a miracle."

Mother Giselle doesn’t push the matter further, instead leaving to tend to the Inquisition’s wounded and perform last rites for the dying.

—————————————————————————

Several more hours pass before Lavellan’s eyes finally flutter open. She notices him at once, and smiles faintly. “Solas.”

"Aneth ara, lethallin. Ma isala ir hamin."

"Speak for yourself. You look awful," Lavellan says bluntly, her brow creased with worry. "Mala hamin nadas. I bet your spirit friends miss you. You don’t need to worry about me."

"Someone has to," he insists, his tone a bit harsher than necessary. "It was a foolish plan. Confronting Corypheus and his pet dragon alone, leveling a mountain with no possible means of knowing whether you could escape the avalanche."

"I didn’t have a lot of time to think of an alternative, did I? You obviously didn’t have any better suggestions, so I fail to see how this is suddenly all my fault. But fine, oh wise hahren, sorry I almost died!"

"No, ir abelas. I...am not accustomed to a lack of sleep." Solas’ voice is quiet, shoulders hunched forward. He sighs. "You have shown remarkable bravery. These past few days have been..."

"Frightening?" Lavellan offers.

"Yes. Very much so."

They lace their fingers together, and he can feel her pulse—stronger now—against the pad of his thumb. Solas brings her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to each one of her fingers. He knows this is far more than innocent flirtation between them. Somewhere along the line he’s developed feelings for her. He cares for her deeply, like no one else in centuries.

Solas tells himself it is merely a result of the orb’s magic marking her hand. That must be why he’s drawn to her. Logical explanation. Denial is an old friend, but he knows it to be a lie just as surely as he knows she changes everything.

It scares him almost as much as the possibility of losing her.

**Author's Note:**

> Rough Elvish translations:
> 
> "Aneth ara, lethallin. Ma isala ir hamin." = Hello, my friend. You need more rest.
> 
> "Mala hamin nadas." = You need rest.
> 
> "Ir abelas." = I am sorry.


End file.
